


Out of Sight, not out of Mind

by Ashen_Serpent



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Flirting Mention, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 09:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13610007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashen_Serpent/pseuds/Ashen_Serpent
Summary: The Host finds Dr. Iplier worried and angry after a recent disappearance.





	Out of Sight, not out of Mind

"Where were you?"

The Host stiffened at his desk, lifting his hand from an open book. Based on the speech patterns and approaching footfalls, he inferred who asked the question. A mental image of his dear Doctor, eyebrows furrowed and lips drawn back, drifted into the forefront of his mind. The Host frowned.

"The Host does not understand why the Doctor is asking this question. No meetings occurred recently and no appointments had been scheduled for recent dates. The Host wishes to know why the Doctor requires his previous whereabouts."

He heard the Doctor mutter under his breath and felt feet his as his stance changed. "Host," A pause and the start of a few gestures soon retracted, "yesterday was February 6th."

The Host checked his breathing and titled his head, raising an eyebrow above his bandages. "The Host fails to see the relevance of this information."

A tongue click. "That much is obvious." Air displaces as the Doctor again adjusts his stance and places a palm against his temple, heart-rate and breathing beginning to pick up. He sighed and the Host noticed the creaking of his molars. "Just, look." A hand waved and pacing began. "I know what happened 5 years ago, I wasn't there when you came to, but I've been aware ever since I came here. I knew of you, the rumors, the urban legends, the stories of people who get a journal on their doorstep and just disappear. I heard all this, thought it was stupid, ridiculous, just another one of Dark and Wilford's jokes." The pacing stopped, and the words come out almost silent.

"And then I met you." The steps started again, louder this time with a heavy grind in the ball and heel. "It was the first meeting of the month, King was off in a tree somewhere, Dark and Wilford were arguing again, and I was considering aggressively redecorating the front of someone's car. It was boring, weird, and totally willing to kill if it meant that I could go back to my office. There was a knock on the door.

"I look up and I see a fucking wonder. In walks some smug bastard with all the subtlety of a dozen steel drums gallivanting down a staircase. He takes a deep breath and groans, swinging a bloodstained bat over his shoulders and using it to stretch them, smirking like a cat with lobster. The bastard then opens his eyes, spots me, and grins. He brings the bat down and saunters over to where I'm sitting. He leans on the table and asks what a handsome man like myself is doing in a place like this. I look him in the eye and tell him that I wish to end my life and while I was leaning towards Wilford's gun, I figured I could take the bat for a swing if he would be kind enough to lend it to me. And you know what he did? He threw his head back and laughed to the point where he was on the floor crying. It wasn't even that funny of a joke and yet he could barely breath. And when he finally could, he asked for my name, occupation and address, so that he could see me in action. This man, who knew me for all of a minute, was asking for my contact information. He knew nothing about me and still somehow deemed me worthy of his time.

"So I said to him, 'I am Doctor Edward Iplier, M.D., and I work as a general physician for the local area. I think I've heard of you before. Aren't you an author of sorts?' His eyes lit up and he laid out a grin with a lot of teeth saying, 'I'm not just an author. I'm _the_ Author. It's best you remember that, my dear Doctor. Unless you want me to punish you.' And with that needlessly ominous and sexual remark, we traded phone numbers and started talking. We agreed to meet at someplace local. Then we met at my house, and later his. He showed me his knack for violin and I showed him mine for poetry. We talked about so much and spent so much time together. And we stayed that way, even as new additions joined the office. We were friends."

His steps slowed to a stop, quietly resonating in the Host's room. He shifted and the Host heard fabric bunch around the chest and elbows of the Doctor's coat. He remained silent, listening to the gentle hitches of his dear Doctor's breath while he himself had begun shaking. He heard the Doctor rock back on his heels.

"And then one day you disappeared. You stopped showing up for meetings. You didn't answer your phone. Hell, you own publisher started calling us asking when you'd send in your next manuscript. No one knew where you were. You were just like your own characters, gone without a trace. I waited for you to come back. I held hope that one of these days you'd just come bursting into a meeting with this crazy story that you just had to get down." He paused again trying, almost desperately, to stabilize his breath.

"But that never happened. Over a year passed. And I gave up. I gave up thinking that I'd never see my friend again. And then one day, one day. He came back." The Host heard the Doctor's breath break and could almost feel the way his chest jerked as he spoke, a faint scent of salt in the air. "He came back. My friend was back!" Yet again the Doctor started pacing, his footfall erratic and balance askew. "My friend was alive. He was breathing and could still talk, but something was wrong. I knew something was wrong from the moment I heard your footsteps. Even you don't smell that much like blood. I knew, oh I fucking knew. The Author does not walk wary. The Author does not wear heavy coats. The Author...The Author does not have empty eye sockets. So when I saw you, I knew something had gone horribly wrong." The Doctor chuckled and the Host drew into himself as the scent of salt grew stronger. The Host closed his book and shelved it.

"Then what's your point, Doctor? Do you really just wish to relive the uncomfortable past?"

Hands slammed down onto the Host's desk and then latched onto his coat, hauling up from his chair.   
The Host could feel the Doctor's warm stuttering breath on his face and could mentally trace the tracks of his tears.

"I'm telling you this because I was fucking worried about you! Host, you were gone on the fifth anniversary of your creation. We were all looking for you so that we could celebrate that. Instead, we spent the day searching for you to no avail. You hadn't even been back for a year and you were already gone." The Host felt the Doctor grip his coat even tighter, pulling him into a tight hug. "I already lost you once, Host. I didn't know if you'd be coming back this time."

The Host laid his head on the Doctor's shoulder, rubbing circles on his back. "The Host...apologies for causing you this distress. The Host was unaware that the Doctor would be this effected by his absence and imagined that the Doctor would be more interested in getting rid of paperwork than enduring the Host's mood."

The Host felt the Doctor's breathing ease a bit. "What...what were you doing? Where were you?"

The Host held him close and sighed. "The Host...The Host had decided to revisit his old cabin." He frowned feeling the Doctor flinch. "The Host spent much of the day remembering his time as the Author. He enjoyed the power, the prestige, the feeling that he had the entire world at his fingertips." He paused and leaned his head against the Doctor's. "He also enjoyed his time with you. He loved having someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off of, to spend time with. He especially loved how his dear Doctor would free write whenever he played and they would compare how each one's work glorified the other. He missed you." The Host's breath hitched. "I missed you. I missed you so much. And we don't want you to suffer for our mistakes ever again."

He sighed and held his dear Doctor close, letting him cry onto his shoulder. "You. Fucking. Idiot." The Host chuckled at the Doctor's choice of words and gently kissed his cheek.

"It's going to be alright. The Host will avoid leaving without notice in the future."

His dear Doctor groaned. "You better. I'm not afraid to knock you unconscious. Doctor's orders."

The Host merely grinned. "Heard loud and clear." He exhaled slowly and eventually loosened his grip, stepping back till he held the Doctor's hands in his own. "Now, my dear Doctor, would you care for something to eat? I believe a celebration is in order."

He heard him chuckle and could imagine his smile. "Only if you're paying."

The Host shook his head and kissed him on the lips before leading him out into the hallway, ready to take on the work with this man by his side.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: Characters are still not mine. This story is.
> 
> I decided to write some another Host story and the realized that the Author was officially 5 years old as of yesterday (the first "Danger in Fiction" came out on February 6th, 2013). I wanted to do something to celebrate that and figured that it should be happy. It did not turn out that way. Instead, I accidentally strung together a minor angst-fest that lead to a great many headcanons that I now hold and hold me as I cry. These characters do not deserve what I put them through.
> 
> As always, comment and constructive criticism are welcome. If you have a suggestion or a request, please let me know. I am currently planning to write something for Valentine's Day and would like to know what you'd be interested in seeing. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Best wishes,  
> \- Ashen_Serpent


End file.
